Chapter Eight
Seven minutes later, Weston's warnings still ringing in his ears, Trace pulled his truck out of the diner parking lot and made his way toward the high school, taking the short-cut to the ranch like the guys had taught him. "Aww, shit." Up ahead on the left, hobbling unevenly and dragging her suitcase behind her, was CiCi. Trace brushed a hand over his beard. He should drive on. Sterling had tried to hide it, but the foreman was more than a little irritated with his tardiness. Unable to help himself, he slowed to below the speed limit. Why was she limping like that? Blisters maybe? No. Trace let out a low chuckle. The woman had broken a heel. He lifted his foot from the gas, ready to brake, then thought better of it and sped up, passing by.
Weston's words echoed in his mind.
